


Heave Ho and Bring a Spring Upon Her Cable

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 06:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: "As a child, Thomas was fascinated by pirates."





	Heave Ho and Bring a Spring Upon Her Cable

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for non-con, but not really.

As a child, Thomas was fascinated by pirates. 

A gentle, fastidious, and above all obedient boy, he was intrigued by their rough natures and their lawless existence. Taught to read by a kindly neighbour, Thomas devoured every book of pirate tales he could find. There were not many. Books of any kind were a rarity in the rookery where he lived, but that was no impediment. When he ran out of stories to read, he invented his own. Every night, Thomas lay in bed with his little brother and his young cousins, imagining himself sailing the seven seas with the burly, bearded likes of Captain Kidd and Edward Teach. 

As he got older, Thomas began to realize it was not the thought of _being_ a pirate that appealed to him so deeply. But his true desire, the unspoken, unspeakable thought of being set upon, overpowered and ultimately possessed against his will—but not truly against his will, as Thomas desired it very much—by such a man was too much. Too dangerous. Too ruinous, both for Thomas and for his family, if it were ever to come to light. He pushed it into the shadows and went to sea. 

There, Thomas learned he couldn't have a pirate but, he could, if he was extraordinarily careful, have as many sailors as he liked. 

Never on ship. Onboard ship, he cultivated the image of a man who was quiet, diffident, respectful. Born to serve and loath to disobey authority in any manner whatsoever. It wasn't a stretch. This was Thomas' own nature. At least, it was part of it.

The other part, the one Thomas let loose when he was ashore, was similar, but for one significant difference: he loved to fuck. His shipboard personality, he soon learned, was powerfully alluring to a certain type of man, the type that wished to crack Thomas' aloof nature, to “bring him low” by putting him on his knees, or on his back. Thomas allowed these men to do as they wished, over and over again. Most of the encounters were satisfying. Some were good. A few were very good indeed, but none quite scratched the itch that had plagued Thomas since he was old enough to feel anything of the sort. 

He left all that behind when he went to Antarctica. The trip was too long, the chances of discovery too great, to indulge it. Then, after a brief period ashore, he rejoined the newly promoted Captain Crozier on _Terror_. This time, they sailed north. 

Being in the Discovery Service meant one rarely encountered pirates. Such villains did not, as a rule, tend to haunt uncharted waters, particularly not those in the vicinity of the poles. Thomas was shocked when Lieutenant Irving burst into the great cabin and said, “Pirates, sir! Off the starboard bow, headed this way.” 

Captain Crozier was unfazed. “I suppose I ought to take a look,” he said. “But no one stupid enough to take us on will get anywhere.” He winked at Thomas. “Keep below. I'll be back shortly.” 

“Yes, sir.” Crozier was such an inspiring figure. More inspiring even than Sir John Ross. He was so confident, so sure of himself. He had accomplished so much despite his Irish birth, which made him lesser in the eyes of the Admiralty. Crozier had to work twice as hard to earn half as much respect, but he did it. Thomas liked to imagine that if he'd known his father, Jopson Senior might have been a man like Crozier. He doubted it, but he imagined. 

The captain always maintained control of any situation, so Thomas worried not at all when he heard shouting up above, followed by quick footfalls and thuds. When a gun went off, firing three rounds, he wondered a little, but his faith in Captain Crozier remained undiminished. As instructed, Thomas waited in the wardroom, his heart beating a little faster but nowhere near to panicking. He attended to his duties, as the captain would expect. He set the table for the meal the officers would, no doubt, be especially hungry for once this incident was over. Thomas was standing at the captain's place, laying every utensil a precise distance from its brother, when the door slid open. 

“My, my.” The voice that spoke did not belong to the captain, nor to any of the officers. It was too deep, too rough and gravelly. Thomas' eyes flew up. “What treasure,” the pirate went on, lasciviousness oozing from his voice as his gaze raked Thomas' body, “have we here?”

He looked exactly as Thomas would have pictured. Tall, broad shouldered, with a slim waist, but not too slim. Evidently, piracy fed him well. His hair was thick and dark, his whiskers wild and untrimmed. He had a cutlass at his hip and a pistol in his hand, and the eye not hidden beneath a patch stared at Thomas like Neptune stared at a freshly opened tin of Goldner's veal in tomato sauce. 

“Who are you?” Instinctively, Thomas backed away. That was a mistake. It put him against the wall of the ship, which was not, he expected, the best place to be.

“Do you not recognize me? What a shame. I thought my reputation preceded me.” The man stepped forward. “Dreadful Ned, scourge of the Atlantic. And I don't give a fuck what your name is. You're the prettiest thing I've seen since I left Portsmouth.” 

Thomas felt his face flush, the frustrating, unbidden bodily reaction he had to many situations including, apparently, this one. He hoped Dreadful Ned didn't notice. The leer on his face indicated he might have. Thomas looked at the half-open door behind him, wondering whether he ought to scream or make a run for it, as the pirate sauntered around the dining table. 

“So pretty, it seems you've given me a problem, darling.” Dreadful Ned rubbed at the front of his trousers. A bulge was forming beneath the fabric. “I think a gentleman such as you ought to resolve it for me.” 

No. This was not possible. Thomas had to fight back, even as his heart hammered and arousal built in his body. “You're a vile fiend,” Thomas spat, “and I want nothing to do with you.” Such rudeness did not come naturally. He trembled, even as he told himself to be strong. 

Dreadful Ned only smirked. “You misunderstand me. I was not presenting you with a choice.” With a sudden lunge, he closed the distance between them, his wide, heavy body pressing Thomas' into the panelling.

He smelled like rum and the sea, and like a gentleman's cologne, no doubt stolen from some previous victim. The shape of his cock pressed against Thomas' thigh, then slid against Thomas' groin, where Thomas was hardening despite himself. He tried to angle his body to keep Dreadful Ned from feeling it. He failed. The pirate laughed rakishly and reached down, fondling Thomas without shame. 

“Didn't take you long to come around, my love. And I promise, it won't take you long to come, either.”

Thomas squirmed away, even as his cock pleaded for more. “The captain will have something to say about this.” Where was the captain?

“He won't be bothering us. Nobody will.” Dreadful Ned turned the dining chair nearest to him, which happened to be the captain's, and sat, legs splayed wide. Without removing his gaze from Thomas', he began to unbutton his trousers. “Get on your knees. Now.”

Thomas did so. The floor seemed harder, somehow, than it did when he knelt to clean up spills or shine the captain's shoes. “I'll bite you,” Thomas warned, but even he knew it was a hollow threat. 

The pirate brought up his pistol, settling the barrel in the middle of Thomas' forehead. “Just try it, darling.” 

Dreadful Ned's cock wasn't overly large, but it was quite attractive, with thick dark hair at the root. The pirate's thighs were also thatched with hair. Thomas nuzzled at them, rubbing his stubble along the skin, hoping to distract the man long enough for somebody to come to Thomas' rescue. 

Dreadful Ned groaned, and the barrel of the gun slipped off Thomas' face. Thomas looked up. The pirate's head was tipped back, his eye shut. _Maybe_, Thomas thought, _I can rescue_ myself.

“That's enough of that,” Dreadful Ned barked suddenly, as if he'd heard Thomas' thoughts. He returned the pistol to its place, pressed just a little painfully against Thomas' skull. “Get on with it. And it is in your best interest to get me nice and wet. You may wish to think on that.” 

“Yes, sir.” Thomas could do this. Play the part of the frightened, docile captive until the moment was right. He ran his tongue the length of Dreadful Ned's cock. The gun was still in the pirate's grasp, but Thomas could see that grasp loosening with every lick and kiss Thomas bestowed. It loosened further yet when Thomas took the pirate fully into his mouth. 

“Bloody hell,” Dreadful Ned grunted, as Thomas bobbed up and down vigorously, making him as wet as he'd requested. Dreadful Ned's free hand came up to stroke Thomas' hair, a gentler gesture than one would have expected from such a brute. Thomas sucked him down further, taking the pirate's cock as deeply as he could, then he slid back up. He pressed his tongue to the dripping tip. As he lapped at the salty essence he found there, a clatter rang out, indicating Dreadful Ned had let go of the gun. 

Thomas was gentle, fastidious, obedient, but he could act with courage when he had to. Dropping the man's cock, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, grabbed the pistol from the floor and pointed the barrel at the blackguard in front of him, hoping his aim appeared steadier than it felt. 

Dreadful Ned froze. He seemed at a loss for words. Pulling off his eyepatch, he blinked two apparently good eyes. “Ah, sorry, Tom. I'm not quite sure what I ought to do next.” 

“_I'm_ sorry.” Standing, Thomas placed the candlestick in his hand back in its usual home on the mantel. It played the part of a pistol very well. Now it could return to its normal life, lighting their little home in Portsmouth. 

“I thought you wanted me to, to, to...” Edward could never say the word. It was _rape_, and it was exactly what Thomas had asked for, exactly what this fictional scenario was meant to enact. “Have you over the table.” 

“I know.” It took weeks to talk Edward into playing the villainous fiend of Thomas' longstanding dreams. When he finally acquiesced, he made it clear he was only doing this out of love for Thomas. “It wasn't what I thought it would be.”

Edward stood, pulling up his trousers but not fastening them. His cock, still spit-shiny and hard, bobbed in front of him. It was a comical scene, but rather than laugh, Edward looked anxious. “Was it me? I'm sorry. I did try my best. You know it's very difficult for me to treat you poorly.” 

“I know.” But he'd done it anyway, for Thomas' sake. That said something. It said a lot. “It's not that. You're a wonderful pirate.” He even grew out his whiskers for the game. Thomas could think of no greater sacrifice. 

Which was precisely the point. He put his arms around Edward, who immediately returned his embrace. 

“For as long as I can remember,” Thomas began, baring his soul into the warmth of Edward's neck, “I've wanted a pirate. A man to treat me roughly.” Those were the lovers he'd enjoyed the most: the ones who put bruises on his hips and on his shoulders, who pushed him to his knees, who cared for their own pleasure far more than his. Edward was the polar opposite of all of that. “But now I'm different. I've lived through...” Through the very worst life had to offer, Thomas often thought, but to voice it aloud seemed like tempting fate. “All that we did. And I have you.”

“And I can't live up to your desires?”

“No! My desires have changed.” _They changed because of you._ “What I mean to say is, I would rather make love with you, the real you, than be fucked by anybody else.” Thomas hoped that was enough, that Edward could understand the depth of what Thomas was trying to tell him. 

Whether he did or not, the smile returned, which, at the moment, was enough for Thomas. He was about to kiss Edward when Edward caught him by surprise, literally sweeping him off his feet like a maid. 

“Edward!” Thomas laughed, throwing an arm over Edward's shoulders. He was still far thinner than he was when he left for the Arctic, but Edward was not as strong as he'd once been, and he was a fraction taller than Edward besides. 

“If I'm not going to be a pirate,” Edward said, apparently undaunted by Thomas' size, “then perhaps we might play a game of my devising.” 

Edward was not normally a man given to imagination, in bed or out of it. “Please!” Thomas replied, delighted. “I long to hear it.” 

He headed for the bedroom. It was not far. Their house was small, their bedroom furnished with two narrow individual beds to maintain the necessary illusion they were a pair of loving brothers, although they had been known to push said beds together from time to time. The place was cramped, and draughty, and the roof leaked when it rained. It was the happiest home Thomas had ever lived in. “You,” Edward said, “are a handsome, charming and courageous captain's steward turned third lieutenant. I am a taciturn, indecisive and somewhat disaster-prone first lieutenant.” 

“I much prefer handsome, brave and devoted first lieutenant. If you don't mind.” 

Edward set him down on the bed gently, as if Thomas really were some treasure of great value. “We go through hell hand-in-hand, and come out the other side together. And...” Edward faltered. Thomas pulled at his arms, encouraging the other man to lie atop him, and to keep talking. “And,” Edward went on, letting his weight down slowly onto Thomas, “we keep loving one another.” 

“That's the best game I've ever heard.” Thomas said. _The sort of thing_, he added to himself, sliding his hand down between them, _one could happily play for the rest of one's life. _

“Oh, good.” Edward sounded genuinely relieved. “I'm glad you like it. Although...” He trailed off again, this time with a groan as Thomas pressed his thumb to the tip of his cock. 

“Although?”

“Although I do feel a little sorry for Dreadful Ned.”

“Sorry for him?” Thomas grinned and leaned into another kiss. He'd never seen Edward so playful. If this was what it took to get him in this humour, then Thomas didn't regret the failed fantasy one bit. 

“To be so close to you, and not have you. It's a hell of a thing to bear. I know from experience.” 

Thomas rolled them over, careful of the dip in the middle of the conjoined mattresses. “Well, if Dreadful Ned minds his manners, and leaves his pistol on the mantelpiece, perhaps I could invite him into my bed every now and then. What would he say to that?” 

“Aye aye, Captain Jopson,” Edward said, and reached for Thomas' buttons.


End file.
